


Too much

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erections, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Filthy, High Sex Drive, Kinktober 2019, Reysexual Ben, Sexual stamina, Sleep, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 10:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: The first time they fuck, he pretends that once is enough.Or: When Rey is around, Ben has a ridiculously high sex drive.





	Too much

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kinktober prompt: Somnophilia.
> 
> Thanks a bunch to monsterleadmehome for betaing this utter filth so quickly!

The first time they fuck, he pretends that once is enough.

He hasn’t been with anyone for many years before Rey, and he certainly has never cared to keep up with the painful ins and outs of dating etiquette. But as she loops her arms around his neck, as she laughs the breathy coda of her orgasm against his lips, as she looks up at him with liquid eyes mouthing, “Ben, Ben, _Ben_.”—as she does all that, even _he_ knows that asking if he can keep on fucking her until he has come inside her one, two, three more times is probably not a good idea.

It’s really good, anyway. The sex. And Rey. And doing it with Rey. It makes him come until his head is spinning, it wires new pathways in his nervous system, it reminds him of those deep, existential meditations about the meaning of life he’d lose himself in as a hormonal teenager. 

It’s the _definition_ of good.

So he flips them around until she’s on top of him, lets his cock slip free of her sweet little cunt without grunting his displeasure, and argues with her about real-time strategy video games until she falls asleep on his chest.

He is hard throughout, but it’s still the best night of his life.

…

Rey moves in two weeks after their first kiss, two years after their first argument, two months after the first time they manage to get through an entire conversation without snarling at each other.

(“How’s your mother?”

“Better.”

“Out of the hospital?”

“As of yesterday, yes.”

“Good. And I heard that you… that you’re not working for Snoke anymore?”

“I’m not.”

“Good.” A small smile. “I’m glad, Ben.”)

She keeps her apartment and continues to pay rent, but in the following four months she sleeps at her own place a grand total of six nights. She learns his neighbors’ names, memorizes the trash pick up schedules on his street, and Ben’s cat clearly enjoys her lap better than she ever did Ben’s—who, truthfully, cannot blame her.

(“It’s because of all the treats,” he accuses when he comes home from work and finds her snuggling with Nine on the couch.

”It’s because _I_ do not exude existential angst,” she tells him with a smirk, and continues petting that damn traitor of a cat.)

Rey moves in, and hiding it—that problem of his—becomes a little difficult. Not impossible, but definitely tricky. It’s a matter of timing. And angles. And maybe, a couple of times, quick retreats in the ensuite bathroom, one hand on the mirror as he is hunched over the sink, trying to take care of the issue as rapidly and noiselessly as possible. It’s never quite enough, but it helps. It all helps.

Until the time Poe gets him drunk.

…

Ben is an adult, and he will take responsibility for his actions, but there is no denying that Poe and Finn, and above all, Poe and Finn together, are a major pain in the ass, and that it’s frankly horrible of Rey to keep asking him to hang out with her friends just because they all happen to enjoy Monday Night Football. 

(“Ben, I just want the three of you to bond while I’m not there. I want them to get to know you. If they do, they’ll learn to love you like I do.”

“You do realize that Poe and I grew up together? That we spent high school pushing each other’s heads down toilets?”

“Please?” Rey smiles and tilts her head, and Ben is fucked. So fucked.)

When he stumbles his way home he is slightly drunk and cranky—from his team’s loss, from the tequila, from Finn’s more or less good-natured ribbing about whether he found the courage to give Rey that engagement ring he helped Ben pick—and when his knee hits the bench at the end of the bed his curse is not exactly muffled.

“How was it?” In the dark, Rey’s voice is drowsy and amused. She pulls back the blanket, as if to invite him in, and Ben’s heart softens. 

He grunts. “Fine. Okay. We went for drinks, afterwards.”

“Ah.”

“Poe is…”

“Still alive, I hope?”

“Yeah.” Barely, though.

He is icy, just like the late fall air outside, but Rey is toasty and smells like sleep and flowers and their bed, the bed where he gets to hold her and fuck her and pour his love and his come inside her. She yelps, sluggish and yawny, when he nuzzles his chilly nose again her skin; she giggles once his lips find her throat.

“You’re so _cold_.”

“Hm. You’re not.”

She is even less cold inside. She is pliant and soft and ever-welcoming, as if it is not a burden for her, to be invaded by a lumbering beast like Ben. Her legs fall open easily, and her mouth parts smiling under his own. And she is always wet. Always slick and sticky for him, letting him slip inside her, working in little gasps to adjust to his size. He shouldn’t be fucking her at one a.m. on a Monday night, not when she has to be at work early the following day, but Rey is letting out sweet little noises that make his balls taut and his hands tremble, and Ben cannot stop himself from thrusting deeper and harder. She pulls him with her when she comes, her tight cunt squeezing him into an orgasm that rolls like a landslide through his entire body. 

It feels like nothing else, emptying himself inside of her. It always does.

“Ben.” Rey’s sigh tickles his cheek. She must be smiling. “That was really—”

He groans. There is a voice inside him, a voice that reminds him that the sex is over. That she let him fuck him, generous and open-armed as ever, but now it’s time to get off of her and leave her alone. It’s the same voice that has him jerking off in the shower ten minutes after he’s done fucking Rey—a wise, sensible, intelligent voice that thinks of consequences and responsibility and others’ (Rey’s, it’s always Rey’s) wellbeing. 

It’s a good voice. A noble voice. Problem is, the alcohol is muffling it quite a bit. Which is why, even after he is done coming, even through her aftershocks, Ben cannot make himself stop thrusting.

“Have you…” Rey’s hands come up to his shoulders, as if to hold on to him. “You haven’t yet…?” She sounds confused. And concerned. And tired. And Ben still—

He doesn’t stop. She is very wet now—_because you have pumped her full and _made_ her wet and probably exhausted, you dipshit_—and he slips in and out like a dream. It’s just _unthinkable_, to get himself off of her. An impossible feat. So instead of pulling out he starts moving deeper, hooking a hand under her knee to get better access, to grind against her like an animal. His stomach rubs against hers, sweaty and overheated.

“Ben, did you… _Ah._”

He is so close again, already. His cock is so sensitized. And she is so soft and lubricated. A shudder runs through his body, blurring his vision and wiping his brain white. “Rey—let me just—oh _fuck_.” He licks her neck. Then he bites a tendon, wishing he could _consume_ her.

He doesn’t stop thrusting. He can’t. It’s an odd combination—the wet sounds of the alcohol sloshing in his head and of the come flooding inside Rey, the knowledge that he is pushing it deeper. That he is about to give her more, that he is making her take it and she is letting him, she is making throaty little sounds that—

She begins to contract around him, and the way she is milking him finishes him off. His senses recede and for a long moment the intensity of his pleasure makes it all disappear—the creaking sounds of the bed, the pillow he’s biting into, the chilly night air. For a long moment, it’s just the warm body arching into his own, Rey’s nose against his neck, little tugs of her cunt making him shudder.

And then, after that long moment, reality shifts into focus again. Ben sighs with contentment, lifts himself up to his elbows, and blinks his eyes open to—

To find Rey staring up at him.

…

“Is it… you just don’t have a refractory period, then?”

This conversation, Ben suspects, would be much less annoying if Rey weren’t clearly biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh in his face.

“I’m having breakfast.” He swirls the spoon around his bowl, but doesn’t take a bite of his Corn Pops. “So maybe we can talk about this—”

“Because—I mean, Ben, it’s _every time._” Rey leans forward across the kitchen island, not even bothering to hide her smile anymore. “I thought maybe it was just on Monday, because you had been drinking, but I made a point of paying attention and it was the same on Tuesday and Wednesday and also on—”

“Rey.” He sighs. “It’s seven twenty-three a.m.”

“Does your body naturally produce Viagra?”

“Rey.”

“Is this… a medical condition?” 

“No, it’s—it’s not a condition at all.”

“I beg to differ. Are you secretly thirteen?” She waves her hand. “No, I’ve seen your driver’s license. But are your _genitals_ thirteen? Is this a case of Benjamin Button dick? Is that who you’re named after?”

“What—what is Benjamin Button?”

“Priapism, maybe?”

“No, I—”

“Should I call a doctor? You’ve got health insurance, right?”

“Rey.” This time it must come out firm enough for her to take him seriously. Her eyes softens and her fingers find his across the island. Just tapping on his knuckles, brushing gently as Ben mutters: “I’m not a freak, I promise.”

“How did you… With your other girlfriends. How did you…?”

He drops the spoon and closes his eyes for a moment. This is… even more mortifying than he thought it would be. He was right to want to keep it a secret. “It wasn’t an issue.”

“Oh.” A second, and then another: “Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s just… Just with you.” He averts his gaze. “I don’t know, Rey.”

“Do you…” She scratches her cheek and looks away, hesitant for the first time since the start of this terrible, horrible conversations. “Is it that I’m not… enough? Do you maybe want to have sex with someone else, too—”

“_No._” He immediately regrets yelling, but the idea is… it’s preposterous. “I have no interest in sex if you’re not in the equation, Rey. I haven’t for… Not in a long time, and at this point I’m not sure I could even…” _God_. He wipes a hand down his face.

“What about when I’m not around. Do you…?” 

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Unless… Unless I start thinking of you. Or remembering things, then it gets… Then it becomes a little…” Hard. Difficult. Distracting. So, _so_ distracting. 

“And it’s been like this since the beginning?” she asks, more curious than accusing. “After we have sex, you’re still…” her mouth curves. “Interested?”

“I…” He shrugs. Because it beats admitting that yes. Yes, he is _always_ interested. He would like to keep her forever in a drawer in his bedside table. Ready for him to pull out when he feels… when he feels like he is feeling right now, basically. 

Maybe _he_ is the problem. Maybe he just _needs_ too much. His parents sure seemed to think so, and so did Luke. He has been reaching and grabbing his whole life, and the more he wanted the less he got. And now with Rey… he will take what she can give him. The last thing he wants is to scare her away because of his greediness.

“I just really like you,” he says, feeling slightly defeated. He doesn’t just _like_ her, and he knows it, she knows it, the guy who works at the vape shop around the corner probably knows it, which is why Rey’s expression is soft when she says:

“I like you too, Ben.”

He clears his throat. “Maybe we can discuss this tonight? After work?”

She seems opposed for a second, but then she nods, determined. “Sure. I gotta go wash up, anyway.”

“Okay.” Relief, however provisional, quiets his brain. 

“Ah, and also, I think you’re wrong.”

“Wrong?”

Her left breast brushes against his arm on the way out. When Ben turns to look at her she is biting into her lower lip. “I think you _are_ a bit of a freak.”

…

“We can do it more than once,” she tells him when they are already in bed, after an evening spent eating stir fry and watching late night shows and forcing Nine to run around with a laser pointer. It’s a smart, Machiavellian move on her part, letting Ben convince himself that she has dropped the topic or forgotten about it altogether. 

(Or maybe she truly didn’t mean to bring it up, and it’s Ben’s erection brushing against her ass that reminded her. Hard to say. No pun intended.)

“Rey.” He tightens his hand around her waist and draws her closer. She knows horniness is his natural state around her, anyway. “No. It’ll pass. You don’t have to—”

“I would enjoy it. And I mean—” she wiggles in his arms, and turns around until she is facing him “—you make me come so many times. I can only return the favor.”

“It’s different.” His nose is pressing into her hair, which smells like some sort of tropical fruit. Ben inhales deeply. “I love making you come.” It’s pretty much his purpose in life now that he’s not working for Snoke anymore, getting white-collar assholes acquitted of crimes they have obviously committed. 

She pulls back to narrow her eyes at him. “And you think I don’t?”

“I…” He shakes his head. “It’s different.”

“No, it’s not. Why would it be?”

“Because I…” It’s slightly ironic that having Rey this close to him is making this conversation even harder to carry. “I don’t want to… You have the sex drive that you have.”

“Hmm.”

“Which is normal, unlike mine, and—”

“Maybe you should just get a head start, then.” She smiles as her fingers travel in the space between them. Her hand is small and cool, and Ben’s cock is neither of these things. “Maybe I can make you come before. In my mouth, in my hand. And _then_ we could have sex.” There is nothing like her grip. Like the flush spreading over her freckles. Like the raspy quality of her voice against the rim of his ear. Absolutely nothing, ever. “Or maybe you could come once inside me, and then press all of it even deeper the second time.”

“_Rey_. You have to stop—”

“What I mean to say, _Ben_—” her palm catches on the head, a little clumsy. It drives him insane “—is that I, too—” a light squeeze, and his spine is on fire, melting in his balls “—love making you come.”

His vision dots, and he makes a mess of her hand and of the bed.

…

Rey opens her body to Ben’s the same way she opened her life to his: unreservedly, enthusiastically, and with a lot of smiles. 

He has always known that he doesn’t deserve her, always, but now the thought just won’t leave him alone. Not when she drops on her knees in front of him while he’s sorting through their mail, takes him out of his jeans and sucks two orgasms out of him in less than twenty minutes. She is good, so _good_ at it, in a slightly fumbling, bashful way that has his thighs tensing and his muscles pulling and his entire brain emptying into mindless, grateful babbling, and for the rest of the week he cannot look at the corner of her lip without picturing it frosted with his come. 

He grows familiar with her hands—the little calluses, the tight fist, the gentle pulls that make him sigh as she giggles into his throat—with her soft stomach, with the valley between her pretty tits. His heart hiccups when he finds a bottle of lube on his bedside stand, and she shrugs with a small smile. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m up for anything.”

(It takes them long moments of stretching, a lot of patience, and several helpings of that lube, but when Ben is balls deep inside Rey, two fingers hooked inside her sweet cunt, she has the gall to laugh smugly between gasps.

“I told you, I was up for—_God_—anything.” 

Ben begins to thrust in retaliation, and watches her eyes glaze over.)

She lets him do a lot to her, and Ben, Ben _loves_ it. He loves all of it, and it’s nice not to have to lie to her. It’s perfect, really.

Which is why he is dismayed when they both realize that it’s not enough.

…

“I will see a doctor.”

“Hmm.”

“It must be—You were right. It must be a medical condition.”

It’s not. They both know it’s not. It’s too—too Rey-specific. Too driven by her presence. By her smell, her voice. The sweet way she bites her lower lip as she studies him pensively. 

“I can get some—I’m sure there are drugs to fix this.” To fix _him_, what he is. To fix how much he _wants_. How greedy and insatiable and unreasonable he is. 

“Ben.” Her smile is teasing. “It’s not like I’m not enjoying myself.”

He sighs. He sure hopes she is, because...he has been on her so much. And he has been rough. He has... he tries to be gentle. But mostly he forgets himself.

He’s an uncouth, horny beast.

“We can do it more often,” she adds. “We can continue. We don’t have to stop.” She leans forward on the couch, puts a hand on his knee. Reassuring and soothing.

“It’s too much.”

“It’s not.”

“Rey, no.” He shakes his head. “You’re tired, already. Sleep deprived.”

“But I’m also _happy_—”

“No.”

“—so it’s worth it.”

“No.” He shakes his head, again. “Last night you almost fell asleep while I was… No.”

“Then fuck me while I’m asleep.”

It takes several seconds for the words to sink into his brain. Entirely too long. But when they do his head swims, and his balls tighten, and his cock—it was half hard already, but now it’s punching painfully against his fly, almost too big for his jeans.

It’s the image they evoke. Of Rey, tanned and freckled and long-limbed. With her sea salt and flowers scent. With her creamy, plush cunt. Asleep. Pliant. Vulnerable. Breathing evenly, resting, defenseless like she never is, with only Ben between her body and the rest of the world—a black-hearted knight devoted only to her. Rey trusting him, feeling safe and protected, her eyelashes fanning her lovely cheekbones while he—

While he pushes inside her and ruts his way into a mind-altering orgasm.

“What did you just—?”

She shrugs. “I don’t mind. I’m a heavy sleeper, anyway.”

“Are you…” _Insane? Out of your mind? A fantasy I dreamed up? _ “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because I couldn’t, not without your consent.”

Her brows knit together. “I am giving you my consent right now. Because I like the idea. Of doing something for you, even when I’m sleeping.”

“You… no. Why? You’d be asleep. Why would you even…”

“I like the idea,” she repeats, stubborn.

Her gaze wanders away, contemplative, and her eyes settle on that drawing of herself laughing Ben made weeks ago. (The one that doesn’t even come close to capturing how beautiful she is, which is why Ben never planned to show it to her. But for some reason it made her cry happy tears when she happened upon it, and that’s the only reason Ben decided to frame it for her.) 

“Why?” It’s hard to believe her. “What do you like about it?”

She seems to think it through. Ponder the matter, analyzing it online. Like she’s not even sure why she made the offer to begin with. It tells Ben how little Rey filters herself and her thoughts when she’s with him, and it squeezes his heart. Maybe this _is_ all about trust. Maybe that’s why he can’t get enough of fucking her, after barely having a sex drive for over three decades. Maybe it’s because this is new and addictive—losing oneself in someone else. Someone who welcomes it. 

“I like the thought of my body being yours. Of my body being _useful_.” She chews on her lip for a moment. At some point she must have reached for his hand, because his palm is sandwiched between hers. “I want to give you something that _you_ need. Because you give me a lot of things I need. All the time.”

“I haven’t given you nearly enough—”

“You gave me a family.” She swallows and holds his eyes, direct in an earnest, naked way that he has only experience with her. “You _know_ me.”

It’s a little terrifying, what she’s offering. No—what’s really terrifying is how much her offer is cranking him up. He thought his cock was hard before, but now it hurts.

“Ben. All I ask is that you use me.” She looks at his palm, tracing the lines, drawing patterns, sending shivers up his nerve endings. “That if you get… If you need sex at three a.m. you use my body, instead of your hand in the bathroom.”

It’s uncomfortable, how accurate the image is. “You need to rest—”

“I don’t _want_ to rest.” She exhales, sharp. Shaky. “I want you to know that you can do whatever you want. I want you to think of me as… as a thing of yours. And I think you want it, too.”

Ben has always wanted, always too much, but—nothing quite like this. Not anything. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“It’s okay.” Her smile is sweet. But also something else. “Because _I_ deserve it.”

…

She is lying on her belly when he comes home after Monday Night Football, the covers kicked to her feet because of the heat in the apartment, the slip she wore to bed ridden up to her ass.

Ben swallows.

She usually goes for his tees, or leggings and sweaters. Sometimes she steals his boxer briefs, but he has never, ever seen her in green silk, or whatever the fuck that slinky, shiny material is. It looks like an invitation. Silent permission. At least, that’s what his cock seems to think.

_A thing of yours._

He is quiet as he undresses, the only sounds his jeans pooling on the floor and the mattress dipping under his weight. He makes sure that his hands are not too cold before touching her, but the truth is—Rey was right. She _is_ a heavy sleeper. She barely stirs when he begins to press open mouthed kisses to her throat and nape, but she is—tired? Unquestioning? As madly in love as he is?

He is alone with her body. Rey has trusted him with it while she is gone, while she is resting, and he will take care of it. Shield it, protect it with his life.

But he is also an animal who will do unspeakable things to it.

She moans a little when he slides his cock up and down between the pale globes of her ass, and she squirms when he begins to thrust, his fingers pushing her cheeks together in search of friction, more friction. Her soft little body is passive. Enchanting. She moves against him, ever so weakly, but her breathing is slow and even: she is still asleep. It’s just that she knows him. Even in her slumber, she reaches for him.

Ben groans. 

He should have used lube. If he wanted to bring himself off between her cheeks—he should have used lube. But it doesn’t matter—because he comes like a freight train in under two minutes, right on the small of her back, and then all the lubrication he needs is there, carrying him to his second orgasm while his heart beats a drum against her spine.

He falls asleep immediately after, the rise and fall of Rey’s breathing like a low tide in his ears.

…

She is freshly showered when Ben wakes up, sitting on his side of the bed and smelling like pine and sandalwood. 

His soap. 

“Rey.” He yawns. He is just not a morning person. Never has been, and never will be. Nine is napping between his bicep and ribcage, her whisker tickling his armpit.

“Did you like it?” she asks, head tilted to the side, damp hair curling around her delicate ears.

Ben doesn’t even pretend not to know what she’s referring to. And he is determined not to lie to her, not again. “I did.” He rubs his eyes with his palm. “Rey, I’m sorry I didn’t think to—”

“I liked it, too.” She smiles, and there is some relief there. “Well, I was sleeping. During. But when I woke up and found that you…” It takes him a few moments to notice the slight blush on her cheeks. She is staring down at her hand, and Ben can’t help imagining her waking up and discovering the small mess he left on her lower back. Touching it with her fingertips and finding them glistening wet. “I liked it, too,” she repeats. 

She leans forward to kiss him on the mouth, a little deeper than just a good morning peck. When she pulls back the flush is gone, but the smile is still there. Nine is butting her head against Rey’s, trying to get between the two of them.

“Coffee’s brewed, by the way.”

…

It’s the third time he is fucking her and he could go all night. He could go until sunrise and then take up most of her day, just sliding in and out and in, in again, in as deep as he can go, her tight, swollen channel so thoroughly full of his semen and her juices that he finally, finally feels like he has her the way he wants her. 

Ready.

He would keep her in this bed forever. In this state—his hands framing her face, thumbs on her cheekbones as she quivers underneath him with what’s left of her orgasm, her lips puffy and slack against his own. It’s her arms clinging to him that he likes best. As if in the midst of the clenching and relaxing of her little cunt, in the hot shudders running down their spines, he is the only solid thing for her to hold on to. 

It keeps him iron hard.

“I might fall asleep,” she mutters into his neck as her legs drop tiredly away from his hips. “But don’t stop, okay?” 

He closes his eyes. A grunt pools at the back of his throat, and makes its way out as he fucks upward into her and feels her body go limp. It’s inconceivably hot, having her at his mercy. Having her at his mercy with her blessing. He lasts less than a handful of thrusts, and after he has pumped even fuller he takes her in his arms and pulls her into himself, nuzzling her hair and feeling her sigh against his chest.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and fucks her once more, warm and slow and half asleep. Because she smells amazing. Because he can. Because she lets him, and he is weak and despicable and a monstrous, ravenous creature. Rey murmurs his name while he rubs lazy circles around her clit, but she never awakens, not even when her body begins to pulsate sweetly around him.

…

”What happened last night?”

The words, soft and gentle in his ear, have him stirring between the sheets. Ben mutters—no, he just thinks, _One more minute_, and then turns onto his back, dragging Rey on top of him.

She giggles, but doesn’t give up. “Last night. After I fell asleep?”

His eyelids are too heavy to lift. “Rey.”

“Tell me.”

He groans. It’s so painful, early mornings. Made only slightly more tolerable by the sweet scent of Rey’s skin. “Is the sun even up?”

“Pleease?” Her lips are moving against his jaw, and Ben exhales a sigh.

“I think you can imagine.”

“But how many times?”

“Twice more, I think.” He lost track at some point. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

_Because I want too much. Because I _am_ too much. Because I will never, ever let you go._

When he manages to open his eyes, she is smiling and flushing a little, looking pleased. There are bags under her eyes, too, and it makes something sting inside his chest. 

“Well, that explains the mess.” She puts her finger to her little cunt and then draws it up to her lips, studying the tip. Licking it. Thinking, her pretty brow furrowed with interest.

It makes Ben think, too. “You’re right.” He is suddenly awake. Suddenly interested as he flips them around, as his mouth travels down her ribcage. “Let me clean you up.”

When she comes in his mouth, her hands twist in his hair and her thighs tighten around his ears.

…

Rey has been yawning in front of Leia for the entire night—probably the reason his mother asks the question the second Ben steps into the kitchen to get more wine from the fridge. 

“Has Ben been keeping you up with his snoring?”

He busies himself with uncorking, starting the dishwasher, cleaning up the remains of the simple dinner Rey made. Mostly to avoid hearing Rey’s mumbled answer. He spends one, two, five minutes wiping the countertops, trying to give his mother the time she needs for her… welfare interview. And yet, when the marble is shiny and spotless and he heads back to the dining room, Leia’s tone is still concerned. 

“I don’t mean to warn you away from him, not at all,” she is saying, voice not low enough. “He is… I love him. He is my son. But he can be complicated and very demanding, and…”

He stops right outside of the room, wishing he were anywhere else. And then wishing it twice as much, the very moment Rey begins to speak.

“Ben is…” He can hear her hesitate, and he braces himself, grip tight around the neck of the bottle of wine. He even closes his eyes, telling himself that whatever she says to Leia, it’s nothing he doesn’t already know. He _is_ demanding. He _is_ difficult. He _is_ too much. He always has been, and his mother is only right to warn Rey—

“For me, Ben is just perfect.” 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoAli)


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